


Side Effects

by MothMeetsFlame



Series: How Far We Go [4]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Anal Sex, Detox, Drug Use, Lots of plot, M/M, Naloxone, Overdosing, Recovery, Spoilers: The Big Game and Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMeetsFlame/pseuds/MothMeetsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan spends the night and discovers the extent of Spencer's drug use in the worst of ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side Effects

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: s02e14 and s02e15.

_“Addicts know no shame. You disgrace yourself so many times you become immune to it.”_

― John Grisham

 

It was something Tobias had taught him, that things would never change. There was something else that Tobias had taught him—how to make things better.

Taking the dilaudid was something he couldn’t have ever imagined doing just a few months before. His mind was crystal clear, always, and he’d never wanted it any other way until he had a taste of it. Now, had his mind been a pond, the waters would have been black with no gauge as to the depths of it. Spencer preferred it that way. It started slow, honestly it did. From once every week, to every three or four days.

But this was his second dose in as many days and Spencer couldn’t see any reason not to do it. Sure, some part of his mind put up a protest— _think of JJ, of Emily; think of your job in the BAU; think of your mother; think of the long-term effects it will have on your mind_ —but most of the thinking he did involved replaying the events of his past over and over again with perfect clarity, and the only end in sight was below him in a vial. So, he did what he’d been doing for four and a half months: he took the dilaudid.

Say what you would about Spencer Reid, but the genius overthought everything. Including this. He may not have been as careful in the beginning, but he was learning. Thoughts swarmed his mind, flitting tables about dosage by weight, statistics of drug use and its like to crime in the United States, the history of the hypodermic needle, the basic process of making this particular grade of drugs. He knew it was going to be over soon though. In under twenty seconds, he would feel a prick in between his toes, followed by a floating sensation, then… nothing. His mind would be a complete blank, slick thoughts sliding from one to the next, never able to hold on before moving to the next, morphing, and he wouldn’t be able to remember it later. That was one of the novelties—that he wouldn’t remember. He _always_ remembered. It was nice that these thoughts, at least, would dim.

Then, he felt it, the prick and the floating and he was off, gone. Somehow, he found himself staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember whether he’d been on the floor or his bed and he wasn’t in a state to figure it out. The pressure against his back wasn’t any indication because he couldn’t tell by the feel alone. It was as if his nerve endings were packed with cotton and everything was felt through a slightly numb tingle.

It didn’t really matter anyway whether he was on his bed or not because everything was comfort at the moment. He had a feeling that he could be lying on a bed of nails and he would feel just as good.

It said something about how often he did this that the movements were automatic, ingrained in him since the first time he’d taken the drugs in his own home. After the incredible shock to his system, the numbness died down just enough for him to hold onto small thoughts. Spencer sat up— _I was on the floor after all—_ to cap the now-unsterile needle, which was then placed in a semi-hidden compartment of his messenger bag. He would dispose of it tomorrow when he got his morning coffee.

Just as he was thinking that, Spencer cursed internally at the knock at the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone. His neighbors were on vacation; he’d never ordered anything to be delivered; it was too late for door-to-door solicitations. No one should have been around to bother him on his weekend off.

The knock sounded again, more persistent this time. Then a third time after that. Anyone Spencer could think of would have just left him alone after the first knock, but three times signified importance so Spencer pulled himself to his feet and answered the door. He belatedly realized that he had a peephole that he could have used. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have checked on the visitor and pretended he wasn’t home. But Spencer wasn’t thinking clearly. The dilaudid ensured that—it was what it was for after all—so he threw open the door instead to reveal Morgan and his muscled frame.

“Hey, Reid,” Morgan said with an easy smile.

Other than the fact that it was a smile was completely beyond Spencer at the moment. Profiling was gone, barely even a blip in his brain when he said, “hi, Morgan.”

“You mind if I come in, pretty boy?”

Spencer didn’t see a problem with that even though he knew what was going to happen. It was what happened every time Morgan used that nickname of his. At first, it was just out of the office, little hints when they went out with the team. Then, it happened more and more. By Spencer’s count, it averaged twice a week now. Four months they’d been doing this and it was only with the addition of the dilaudid that he’d been open to what Morgan wanted from him.

Before he was completely inside of the doorway of the apartment, Spencer was on him. Morgan only caught him in reflex, holding him by the thighs as he ground down on the man’s quickly hardening erection. He panted against Morgan’s mouth, relishing in how different the touches were compared to the ones from before. It was so much better now that he didn’t have to overthink things. Had he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to recall a single fact or statistic about what he was experiencing and that, alone, was enough make him eager for Morgan’s touch.

Morgan kissed him fiercely, slamming the door closed and locking it without thought, concentrating only on getting closer to Spencer. The clothes obviously needed to go. Their shirts were relatively easy to remove. Spencer’s came first, the buttons undone quickly by his nimble hands and on the floor it went without either of them having to pause in their kissing. Morgan’s shirt came after. He tossed Spencer on the bed—Spencer didn’t know how they found themselves in the room, but he was grateful nonetheless that they were. Morgan only took the time to remove his shirt before he was on Spencer again, kissing and caressing.

He didn’t need the leverage to hold Spencer up anymore so his hands were everywhere, touching anything he could get at. Spencer shivered and gasped when Morgan pinched his nipples, bit his ear. His hands strayed lower, caressing his still-confined bulge and kneading his ass through his slacks. Spencer couldn’t take it anymore.

“More,” he panted against Morgan.

One second there was the best possible pressure against him and the next, he was alone on the bed. Spencer almost sobbed when the man was gone.

“Shhh,” Morgan whispered, and then Spencer saw him at the foot of the bed, working his own jeans off of his hips then moving to help Spencer with his. _Thank God_ , he thought. He didn’t think he would have been able to take them off on his own. And then the pressure was back, hot and warm against him. His mouth was claimed and Spencer couldn’t think to lodge any sort of complaint with the man rubbing their lengths together. It was the sweetest of sensations his mind could even hope to process, but it tried to anyway.

Spencer’s concentration was pulled, focused only on the feeling of hands and lips and teeth on him. At some point, he thought he felt Morgan’s fingers enter him, but he couldn’t be sure of anything at the moment. He gasped and rocked up as pleasure coursed through him, emanating from inside him and sending shocks through his whole body. It was then that he blacked out.

“Hey, Reid? Spencer? You with me?”

“What?” His speech felt groggy, tongue thick in his mouth.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Morgan said, leaning over him now. “Though I lost you there for a second.”

The fingers were gone and the press of Morgan’s body was hardly existent. It was driving him mad. Spencer couldn’t take it. In a move Morgan had taught him, Spencer flipped Morgan onto his back, using the man’s surprise to gain the advantage. He’d never succeeded before, but he wasn’t thinking now, just feeling and his body knew what to do.

Spencer straddled Morgan’s hips and reached behind him to stroke the man’s shaft, surprised to find him already covered and slick. He didn’t waste any time, lining himself up and sinking down, taking Morgan completely inside of him. Spencer braced himself on Morgan’s chest, using it as leverage to move up and down on top of him. Morgan’s moans of pleasure drowned out Spencer’s gasps and low mewls.

Morgan’s hands found their way to Spencer’s hips, controlling the movement and meeting him with short thrusts directly into his prostate. Spencer was grateful for the guidance. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep moving if he didn’t have the help. Even so, his thighs felt like jelly and his whole body quivered with arousal. It wasn’t long before his hips stuttered off rhythm, coming down hard and fast against Morgan’s thrusts, and then he was coming. His orgasm rushed through him, spilling over Morgan’s chest as the man continued to pound into him, fucking him through the waves of pleasure. Even when Spencer collapsed against him, he continued to move inside him. Spencer hardly noticed. He was gone again, lost in the pleasure of the intense orgasm. He wasn’t even aware of who he was at the moment, but then Morgan came with his name on his lips and he remembered.

Morgan rolled them to the side and pulled out. Fingers traced light patterns in Spencer’s back and he was vaguely aware of someone speaking to him. He didn’t understand the words though and it was only after hearing a hearty chuckle and feeling the man curl up beside him that he fell asleep, thoroughly drained.

When he came to, it was unexpected in the worst of ways. It was a small prick in his thigh and a crush of his chest. Lips were on his then, forcing air into his lungs, so rough that it burned. None of that compared to the feel of having his ribcage pressed into his lungs, forcing oxygen throughout his system. Spencer tried to speak, to tell whoever it was to stop, that he was fine, but trying to breathe was impossible. He couldn’t pull in more than a hiccup and even then it was only with a great amount of effort. His head swam, fading into darkness, but then the lips were back on his and consciousness returned. This time, when he tried, a gasp of air broke through and Spencer rolled over to cough roughly.

He could breathe now, but his throat was rough and he saw stars by the time his vision returned.

“Reid?” a small voice asked from behind him.

Spencer didn’t turn to face Morgan. It would be too much to see his look of concern.

“Reid.” The voice was stronger now, but it still wasn’t enough to make him turn.

Morgan placed his hand on Spencer’s back and rubbed it gently while he tried to stabilize his breathing. He was shaking now and a deep-rooted pain settled into his muscles. _Withdrawal_ , his mind supplied, which could only mean one thing: Morgan knew. He started crying then. He couldn’t help it. It was worse than anyone else knowing because it was Morgan, and his opinion mattered more than anyone else’s, even Gideon’s. This time, when Morgan called his name, Spencer didn’t look because he couldn’t stand to see the disappointment and revulsion that the senior agent was obviously trying to keep out of his voice. It wouldn’t fool Spencer though. If Morgan knew, that meant he knew how weak Spencer was, how cowardly. He was a complete and utter disappointment.

“You should go,” Spencer found himself saying.

“What?” Morgan said angrily, but Spencer wouldn’t be deterred.

“Leave,” Spencer said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I sure as _hell_ am not going anywhere, Reid” Morgan said indignantly. “Whether you like it or not, we’re going to… hey!”

Spencer barely heard the last word as he flung himself off of the bed and darted into the bathroom, intent on emptying his stomach. Luckily, there was hardly anything in him to expel, but the taste of bile was enough to make him miserable. It wasn’t soon enough that he stood there, brushing the taste out of his mouth. It was only the first of many times he would vomit in the coming hours, but it didn’t mean that he was going to just lie there and take it.

Tears stung his eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. He didn’t know why he was crying, only that he couldn’t stop it once it started. Surprisingly, his voice was strong and steady when he spoke. “Please leave, Morgan.”

“Reid.”

“Go. I—”

“Reid.” This time, Morgan’s hand gripped his chin and forced it to the side so that he had no choice but to look at him. “We’re going to talk about this whether you like it or not. Something’s been eating at you for a while now and I want to help.”

Spencer jerked his chin down, out of his grasp. “I don’t need help.” The words sounded childish even to him. Spencer’s stomach clenched again, but nothing was trying to force its way up this time.

“Come on,” Morgan said, grabbing his arm. The grip was tight enough to bruise and Spencer knew he had no choice but to follow the man as he steered him to the living room.

Morgan sat him down on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. The trembling in his limbs was getting worse, but it was nothing compared to the need that was rising in him. Morgan was just on the other side of the door, but that left Spencer alone for now. It was only four yards to his bedroom and then another three to the bathroom where, taped to the bottom of the sink was a syringe and a nearly full vial of dilaudid. There would be enough in there to make the cravings go away. He could do it, he knew. He could go in there, take just enough to make a difference, but not enough that Morgan would suspect anything. He only needed thirty seconds. Did he have thirty seconds?

Highly likely.

Morgan was in the kitchen—doing what, Spencer didn’t know—and that would give him enough time to make it to the room at least. Even if Morgan came out of the kitchen and saw the couch empty, and thought to check the bathroom first, he would assume that Spencer was sick. He needed to move now, though, if he wanted even a chance at relief.

Spencer stood quickly, surprised at how unsteady his legs were—wasn’t he just standing and walking perfectly seconds ago?—but he kept himself from collapse easily enough. His steps were heavier than they had any right to be as he made his way across the loving room. When had the room gotten so large? And why had he thought that keeping his emergency supply in the deepest corner of his apartment was a good idea?

The door to his room opened easily enough and, through the pound of blood in his ears, he could hear Morgan in the kitchen. So far, so good. Realistically, he knew it had only been a few seconds since he left the couch, but it seemed like ages by the time the bathroom doorknob was turning under his hands. And then he was on his knees, searching, searching for—there! He ripped the vial from under the sink with trembling hands and quickly tore open the needled syringe. That was as far as he got.

His hands shook too badly for him to be able to guide the needle to the rubber top and he let out a groan of frustration. His head was splitting open, his body ached, his stomach turned. He was cold and pale and sweaty. The only thing he needed to take it all away was in his hands and he couldn’t even use it.

Then the bathroom door opened behind him and he knew he was out of time. His thirty seconds had come and passed and he had nothing to show for it. Sobs racked his chest as Morgan took everything from him and dragged him back to the couch. Just as his stomach lurched, a large pot was placed in front of him and Spencer realized then what Morgan had been doing in the kitchen.

More came up than he thought he had in him, especially after his first bout of vomiting. When he was done, Morgan was there with a small cup of mouthwash and a bottle of water that he couldn’t get the cap off of. Morgan helped him with it and rubbed his back as it came right back up.

“I –I –I’m so –orry.” Spencer stuttered out between retches. 

Morgan just looked at him and Spencer withered under the gaze. He watched as the older man pulled out his cell phone and hit a number on his speed dial. It was mere seconds before he heard a voice on the other line, though he couldn’t make out the words.

“Hotch?”

Spencer flinched at the name. If Morgan was calling Hotch, his career was ruined. But the next words out of Morgan’s mouth surprised him.

“I need you to process a week of leave for Reid and I.”

Spencer was a war of emotions. That Morgan would stay with him meant everything. That Morgan staying meant he would have to go through detox, though, had him cringing.

 “You were right, Hotch. It’s bad. I… had to use the Naloxone.”

They’d known? Of course they’d known, he answered himself. After he missed that plane last week, he’d pretty much confirmed it. He hadn’t been as secretive as he thought he had if the sly looks he’d been getting were any indication. Even Jason had come by to talk to him, though he was more interested in punishing him than talking. Spencer shivered at the memory, or maybe it was just another bout of tremors from the withdrawal symptoms. He didn’t really know.

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked him.”

Asked him what?

“Will do. Thanks, Hotch.” Then the phone was flipped closed and Morgan faced him again. “We have the week, Reid.”

That was all it took to break the dam. Spencer sobbed roughly into the couch, burying his face in the armrest so he wouldn’t have to see the myriad of emotions on Morgan’s face, starting with hurt and heartbreak and ending with anger and disgust. When he was finished, he noticed Morgan’s hand on his back—when had he put that there?—stroking him lightly. The touch was so light, Spencer was surprised to find the cold edge of metal bite into his skin as Morgan cuffed him to the leg of the couch.

“Sorry about this, pretty boy,” Morgan said sincerely. “But I have to check the house and I can’t trust you to stay.”

Spencer wanted to protest, but found that he couldn’t come up with a valid argument. Morgan was right. He couldn’t be trusted.

Four hours later, all of the drugs—including the well-hidden stash under the floorboards beneath his bed—had been found and disposed of. Eight hours after that, the worst of the withdrawal symptoms reared their ugly heads and had Spencer cowering on the floor of the bathroom, sensitive to every touch, sight, and sound. At two days, Spencer was exhausted and was in serious danger of dehydration with only Morgan’s persistent attempts at feeding him to keep him alive. At five days, the tremor in his limbs was worst of the symptoms, aside from the cravings which were no better than they had been on the first night. That morning was his first NA meeting. That night was his first night out of the cuffs while Morgan slept.

“What do you want, Reid?” Morgan asked him the day before they were due to return to work.

“I –I don’t know,” he stammered.

“I know you. You know what you want. You always do.”

Spencer looked down, unable to keep the grimace from showing on his face. When he looked up, it was to Morgan’s reassuring smile, even if it was tinged in sadness. Spencer hesitated. He could do this, he thought, if it would make Morgan happy. He owed Morgan everything.

“You can tell me, even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings, pretty boy,” Morgan said, reading his mind.

“I don’t want this,” Spencer said slowly, eyebrows creasing in worry.

“I know you don’t,” Morgan said, surprising him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” There was a small pause. “Don’t think I’m leaving you alone though, kid. Just ‘cause we’re not together doesn’t mean I’m not your friend.”

Spencer was surprised, but he found himself smiling rather than put out at the though of his now-ex-boyfriend staying at his apartment. If Morgan was there, he wouldn’t need to worry so much about self-control. Someone he trusted would be there to look out for him, to keep him from doing something else he’d regret. “Thanks, Morgan.”

Morgan pulled him into a crushing hug, but Spencer didn’t mind. Even without the dilaudid, he could feel safe and comfortable in those arms.

“I don’t deserve you,” Spencer mumbled so low that Morgan couldn’t hear him, but he took the silence as confirmation anyway. He really didn’t deserve his kindness. And it was shame that brought tears to Spencer’s eyes as he realized that he wanted it nonetheless.

 

_“_ _I hate myself more than you ever could.”_

― Alain de Botton


End file.
